


Bet Me

by Megglytuff



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst and Feels, Badass Tweek Tweak, Bebe Stevens is not having any of your shit, Craig Tucker Being An Asshole, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eric Cartman Being Eric Cartman, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kenny McCormick just being Kenny, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-01-07 04:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megglytuff/pseuds/Megglytuff
Summary: “I don’t strike out. I didn’t strike out.” Craig defends himself, bristling under the words.“Care to make a bet?” Cartman responds smugly.Craig’s notorious for 1. Being a serial dater and 2. Always winning bets.Tweek has forgotten about his cigarette, what with all the eavesdropping he's doing. So, of course, when he goes to light it Cartman says, “I bet you can’t get Tweek to put out.” The cigarette falls. No freaking way.“No bet,” Craig says. He sounds bored. Tweek can almost hear him rolling his eyes.“I’m not cruel,” Cartman croons, “I’ll give you till prom to get into his skinny jeans.” Tweek stares down at his ratty grey skinny jeans.





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first South Park fanfic I've written in like....ten years, it feels like. I got inspired by all the good fics on here, and my favorite, ultra cheesy romance novel (Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie). I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any errors. I wrote this all on my phone, then tried my best to re-read it multiple times before I uploaded. I also love cheesy tropes so theres like so many y'all I'm so sorry haha. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know! ^.^

Tweek doesn’t know what he fucking expected. He knew this was coming. He was a certified, grade A, grass-fed, free range dumbass. Still, he idly sips his peppermint vanilla cold brew. Tweek wonders if he could puncture Eric Cartman’s throat with the aluminum straw he is currently gnawing on in between sips. 

“It’s just not working out,” Cartman says, very diplomatically, which makes Tweek’s left eye twitch. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I’m sure you understand.” 

“Is this because I wouldn’t have sex with you?” Tweek asks pointedly. Cartman’s blue eyes widen into saucers. “Because I don’t fuck after three dates. And it was a school night. We had that essay on ‘The Scarlet Letter’ due the next day. It was impractical.” He is trying to be calm, and rational. Because as South Park’s resident ‘crazy kid’, he doesn’t want to give anyone any more ammo against him. His coffee is almost gone, he thinks, sipping up the last drops. 

He wonders why he thought dating Eric Cartman would do anything for him. Sure, Eric has been a bully in their youth (who was Tweek kidding? Eric was still a bully). But he’d grown up, just like Tweek had. Back in 8th grade Cartman had gotten into power lifting and since then he’d retained his bulk but it was more filled out. He wasn’t the local fat ass any longer. 

Too bad his personality remained vile. 

Which is why Tweek is racking his brain to understand why he agreed to date Cartman. Oh yeah, his traitorous mind reminds him, it's because he was nice to you. You forgot years of harassment because he was nice to you, and look where it got you, Tweek. He bites down on the aluminum straw. 

Tweek knows he isn’t unattractive- he’s over 6ft, rail thin and deadly pale, brown eyes rimmed in purple from lack of sleep sure... but his face is angular, his nose is long and he’s got okay lips. His eyes are big, and Bebe always comments on his eyelashes like that’s something he should take as a point of pride. Overall, he could look worse for a high school senior. He could date anyone, realistically, if looks were all that mattered. 

Too bad his personality is kinda vile, too.

Cartman has the gall to look wounded, “Is that all you think I wanted?” 

And he sounds so legitimately hurt that it causes Tweek to reconsider, for just a moment, before letting his anger pool in his chest. His brain supplies him with the proper flashback to make the anger feel more comfortable, for this rage to be more justified than just the local crazy kids wild emotions. 

-

He’d been bringing Cartman a blueberry muffin about two weeks ago. Mrs. Tweak had made them that morning and they were one of Tweek’s favorite. He’d thought it would be nice to bring one to his boyfriend because Cartman was carb loading or something and muffins are carbs, he thinks. 

He wasn’t allowed to drive currently- not after crashing the car into a light pole 10ft from home- and he would rather eat his hands than take the bus so he walked. School was a good 20 minutes away and when he got there he headed for Cartman’s locker. He knew the combo. He’d just put the muffin inside with a note and it would be a nice surprise. Tweek was smiling to himself, thinking this would ease the tension that had seeped into their infantile relationship the past week. They’d fought. A lot. Tweek has felt mostly responsible. This was a step in the right direction. 

He’d rounded the corner and saw Cartman leaning against his locker, back to him. He was speaking with someone on the phone. Tweek smirked and slowly crept up. “Yeah,” Cartman said, “he’s a twitchy little fuck but his mouth is warm just the same.” Cartman cackled, and Tweek felt his world spin. He stopped mid step, and took a step back. He prayed his Converse would be quiet on the linoleum. 

“I bet I can get him to put out. Give me like a week. I have that stupid freak dangling on a thread.” There was so much venom in his voice. Tweek didn’t recognize this person. This was old Cartman. Not the Cartman Tweek has come to know. He should have confronted him and ended it there. But he didn’t. Instead he ran. 

-

The memory is like poison, it makes his vision go red. He had abjectly refused any kind of sexual escapades since then. He barely kissed Cartman. He found the other boy's touch repulsive. “Well,” Tweek snarls out, “my apologies if I made you feel bad.” The words are pointed barbs, but Cartman doesn't seem fazed at all. 

Cartman leans forward and puts a large hand over Tweek’s thin, spindly, and otherwise fucked up one (he picks at the skin around his nails when he's nervous, also the dry weather is a curse on his sensitive skin and it dry, and flaky). Tweek does his best not to pull back, and stares daggers into Cartman’s eyes. Snake, his mind says, snake snake snake. 

“I’d like to remain friends,” Cartman says in his smoothest voice. His smile is fake, it doesn't reach his eyes. Tweek doesn't understand how he didn't notice this before- the fakeness. He feels angry with himself for letting this happen, for giving someone a second chance, for being stupid. The word 'stupid' bounces around in his head, and he feels his eye twitch again, feels his chest tighten. 

Tweek pulls back his hand, and stands up from the bench they’d been seated on just outside the gym. “I have to go now,” he says, voice somehow remaining calm and even. He turns on his heel and heads towards the football field , more specifically towards the bleachers outside of the track surrounding the football field. He wants a cigarette. He wants more coffee, but that’s not feasible. He stuffs the empty thermos into his satchel and pulls out the crumpled pack of cigarettes. He lights one just as he enters the gate to the track. 

His eyes linger on those that are currently running, and remembers that there's track and field practice today. He wishes he had the stamina, but he’s so out of shape and smoking probably doesn’t help. He also thinks if his heart rate was any faster he’d just drop dead. So he steadfastly avoids working out. Tweek takes a long drag on his cigarette and catches the eye of the runner who is nearest him. 

Craig Tucker. 

Time seems to slow. Craig’s green eyes are locked on Tweek’s. Tweek almost swallows his cigarette in shock. He avoids Craig. He has since freshman year when they had a falling out. Craig’s a Popular Kid. Tweek is not. Craig is fit, athletic, and devastatingly handsome aside from a slightly crooked nose from when he got into a fight with Stan Marsh in 7th grade. 

Craig Tucker is an All-American kid. 

Tweek Tweak is not even in his universe, let alone his league. That hasn’t stopped Tweek from having a crush on Craig since basically the dawn of existence. That’s what the falling out was about. It’s a sore spot for Tweek. 

Time speeds up again, and Craig is darting off down the track while Tweek’s cigarette is almost all ash. He drops it and snuff it out in the dirt before throwing it in the trash bin. He scurries away under the bleachers and sits down on the softening grass. This is his spot. This is where he hides, and smokes and writes and where no one bothers him. It’s quiet mostly, but since today is track practice there’s various people hanging around on the bleachers themselves. Tweek hears Clyde Donovan and Token Black talking nearby. His heart aches. He was friends with them too. 

“Damn Craig,” Token says in awe, “you beat your last record. Impressive, dude.” There’s shuffling and the sound of two shoes climbing up, then the sound of someone taking a seat. 

“Thanks,” Craig’s nasally voice wafts through the slats in the bleachers. Tweek shuts his eyes and takes a breath. He’s shaking. He wishes his body would just fucking stop. 

“What was that with you and Tweek?” Clyde asks, curious but not mean. Tweek has always liked Clyde because he’s just a good-old-boy and was always nice to him. Token was too. Even Craig was for a while, but their dynamic was different. “He looked like he was gonna shit his pants.” Clyde chuckles to himself, and sniffles. It sounds like he's getting a cold. Tweek takes back what he said about Clyde and curses his name under his breath, hoping both his nostrils get stuffed up. He fishes for another cigarette, needing the nicotine and as he brings the lighter to his lips he hears Cartman. 

“What’s up faggots?”  
“Dude,” Token admonishes, “you really shouldn’t use that word.” 

“Aren’t you like, dating a guy?” Craig asks, annoyance clear in his voice. Craig never liked Cartman. Not since an incident he only refers to as ‘The Peru Thing’. Tweek could never get Craig to elaborate, but Kenny did confess they stole his birthday money and made him join their Peruvian flute band. Tweek understands why he would be annoyed and still hold a grudge. No one holds a grudge like Craig Tucker. Except himself, that is. 

“I was,” Cartman says easily, “little fucker wouldn’t put out so I dumped him.” 

“Bruh,” Clyde says, sounding disgusted. Okay, Clyde is cool once more. 

“You’re a fucking pig,” Craig snaps.  
“Like you’re any better,” Cartman counters, “heard you dumped Sally cause she wouldn’t put out.” 

“Sally dumped me for the record. Also, you don’t make ultimatums on sex in a relationship you halfwit.”  
“You’ve dated like half the student body at this point, Tucker. I thought you didn’t strike out. I thought you dumped them before they became too attached,” Cartman jeers. He can feel the change in the air, the animosity. 

“I don’t strike out. I didn’t strike out.” Craig defends himself, bristling under the words.  
“Care to make a bet?” Cartman responds smugly. 

Craig’s notorious for 1. Being a serial dater and 2. Always winning bets. 

Tweek has forgotten about his cigarette, what with all the eavesdropping he's doing. So, of course, when he goes to light it Cartman says, “I bet you can’t get Tweek to put out.” 

The cigarette falls. No fucking way. 

“No bet,” Craig says. He sounds bored. Tweek can almost hear him rolling his eyes.  
“I’m not cruel,” Cartman croons, “I’ll give you till prom to get into his skinny jeans.” Tweek stares down at his ratty grey skinny jeans. Oh that fucker, he thinks, clamping down on his teeth.

Prom. Tweek has forgotten about prom. His mom was so excited; she had practically begged him to go. So Tweek, although a nervous mess, had agreed and he was supposed to go with Cartman. Obviously Cartman had forgotten. His mom is going to be so disappointed that her son can’t be a normal fucking boy and do normal fucking things like go to prom and keep a boyfriend for more than a month. 

The pain is back. He’s shaking worse than before. His hands go up to his fist his hair as he curls in on himself. He should get up and leave. Stop listening. 

He can’t. 

“What the fuck dude.” Token sounds disgusted.  
“I mean, if you think you can’t do it. I understand.” Cartman taunts. He’s dangling it out there. Craig is not one to back down. 

“It’s not a matter of if he can do it,” Clyde says, sticking up for his friend, “it’s morally corrupt.” 

Cartman sniggers, “As if any of y’all care for that fucking twitchy cock sucker.” 

“Not fair,” Token says, “Who says we don’t care?” 

“I’ll make the deal sweeter. I’ll bet you $1,000 that you can get Tweek into bed by prom. That gives you 3 months.” Tweek’s tunnel vision gets worse and he’s nearly hyperventilating. There are tears welling in his eyes. This can’t be happening this isn’t real, he repeats to himself. 

Just then a message blasts over the PA system, drowning out any specifics Tweek could hear. He can hear them talking but it sounds like it’s through water; he can’t make anything out. It’s this way for about 2 whole minutes. When the message is done all he hears is, “Peace of cake.” It sounds like Craig’s voice. 

This is when Tweek runs. He runs out of the gated track field, in the opposite direction of those fuckers and towards the art building. His feet pound the ground, his chest is heaving by the time he reaches the secluded bathroom of the art building. He dry heaves into the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. The panic attack has almost set in. He is vibrating with energy and terror and anger. So much fucking anger. His hands grip the sink, turning his knuckles white. His eyes are shiny as glass, and red with unshed tears. He bites down on his cheek, stabilizes himself. 

“Those pricks,” he snarls out, “They think I’ll just sleep with fucking anyone who is nice to me.” It’s such a painful, mean thing. He wants to smash the mirror, smash his reflection. He wants to curl in on himself and burst into flame. His mother's face flashes in front of his eyes, her hands clasped in excitement at the prospect of Tweek having a normal high school experience. She should have known better. He should have known better. He knew what Cartman really was, but he’d been so nice at first. He thought he knew who Craig was, too, once upon a time.

He blinks once, an idea infiltrating his mind. What if he went along with the bet? What if he made Craig’s life a living hell for three months? What if he made him take him to prom, and then dumped his ass cold? Even better, what if he could make Craig fall for him? He laughs at the last part, such a pipe dream, but the rest...the rest is a good idea. 

His chest heaves with another sigh-sob and he feels himself calming down. His vision stops swimming and he finds himself grinning maniacally. Maybe this is a manic episode, maybe he’ll regret it in the morning but right now it’s the best idea he has ever had. Obviously Cartman will have to pay, too. But he can cook something up in the interim.

He steps back from the sink, runs his hands through his wild hair and pulls out his phone. 

He sends a message to Bebe Stevens and Kenny McCormick- his best friends. “Meet me outside the field in 10. I need your help.” Tweek takes one deep breath and heads back out. 

-

What he didn’t hear, when the principal was gibbering over the PA, was Craig not agreeing to this. 

“No bet,” Craig said after Cartman’s monetary offer.  
“Pussy. I didn’t know you were so weak you couldn’t get that faggot to do you. He’s been hot for you since forever.” Cartman points out. Craig knows this. It’s a sore spot. He glowers at the other boy.  
“I’m not fucking cruel. I’m not going to do that to him.” He doesn’t deserve it, his mind supplies. 

“Listen, I bet you $10 right now that you can’t get him to go on a date with you. Unless you’re chicken.” Cartman clucks, and flaps his wings. He’s grinning impishly. 

“Dude, stop it.” Token huffs in annoyance.  
“You think he can’t do it?” Cartman.  
“That’s not the issue. He could do it,” Token counters nervously. Token does not want to be involved in bullshit like this. 

“If I do it will you leave me alone?” Craig barks, looking into the track where his teammates are all pooling together. He needs to get back. “But just the date. I’m not going to sleep with him. I’m not gay.” The words feel hollow. He swallows them down. 

“No, no. How about both? Unless you can’t do it.” Cartman once again taunts. The principals message finally ends, and it’s moderately quiet once more. 

Clyde, sticking up for Craig again, snaps “He can do it!” Clyde makes an 'OK' sign with his hand, sneezes, and then says, “Piece of cake.” He rummages in his bag for tissues; his allergies are killing him. 

From below them they hear the sound of scurrying and feet moving fast. No one moves to see and they ignore it. Craig takes one last look at Cartman, hating him with everything he has. “Whatever, I’ll take the $10 one and that’s it,” he says and goes to walk away. This will be forgotten by tomorrow, and he doesn’t have time for it. “I have to get back to my practice.” And then he’s walking down the bleachers and away from them. He can vaguely hear Token chiding Clyde for getting involved and admonishing Cartman for being well.... Cartman. 

It doesn’t matter, Craig thinks, I won’t see Tweek again today so I’ll lose $10. All he wants to do is finish this practice, take a shower and go home to play video games. He’s halfway across the track when he sees Tweek striding by, and leaning against the chain fence as if waiting for someone. He’s hunched, and smoking a cigarette. Craig turns back and hopes Cartman will be gone. He isn’t. He’s flapping his arms and clucking at him. Craig sneers and curses under his breath, taking a turn and walking up to Tweek. 

He hasn’t had an actual conversation with Tweek in ages. Not since he and Tweek got super fucked up stoned and fooled around in Token’s closet. It had been great- Tweek’s mouth on his, warm and open and wet, and Tweek’s hands had been still and sure as they ran up Craig’s face. And Craig had groaned and pressed himself into the taller boy. And then they’d been caught by Kenny. And Craig had panicked. He saw his fathers stony expression and his mothers disappointed face; their upset at finding out he had a crush on his best friend and the person he wanted to date. 

He’d barely acknowledged his attraction to men, let alone Tweek. He knew there was nothing wrong with it deep down, but his parents were always so against it. “I’ve got nothing against the gays,” his father said one night, “but no son of mine is gonna be a homosexual.” And Craig had felt his mouth go dry, and he’d asked to be excused from the table. 

So when he was caught he panicked. 

He’d pushed Tweek back, and snarled at him. Faggot. The word was so cruel and wrong and Tweek had looked scared and his lips were bruised from the kisses. Tweek had reached out, Kenny had left immediately, and Craig has smacked the hand away. 

“Don’t ever touch me or come near me again. I fucking mean it,” his voice shook despite the venom he tried to pump into it. Tweek had begun shaking and his eyes watered and Craig had left him in the closet. 

Tweek never spoke to him again. Never spoke to Clyde or Token either, and that had hurt the other two who had tried to remedy the situation when they found out. But Tweek was a master at avoiding confrontation. Eventually they gave up. Now Tweek is like a phantom, drifting in the halls and between classes. And anytime anyone tries to approach him he flees. 

He’s not fleeing now though. Tweek looks over his shoulder and sees Craig approaching. Craig thinks he sees a grin, but it’s gone and replaced with the wide-eyed look he’s come to associate with the kid. Craig reaches the fence and leans up against it. He puts on his smoothest voice, quirks his lips up in one corner, “Hey Tweek.” 

Tweek, for his part, blanches but stays upright as his knees threaten to melt. It’s the same voice Craig used when they made out, that husky and low voice. It goes straight to his cock. He puffs on his cigarette twice for something to do. Should he keep it cool or call a fucker out? His brown eyes spot Cartman looking a little less confident. Tweek grins and turns his body, mimicking Craig’s stance, a mirror image. 

“H-hi Craig,” he can’t help the stammer. “Don’t you have practice?” He nods in the direction of his team mates who are watching from a distance. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Craig says, “If that’s alright.” He smiles fully, teeth white and straight. Tweek purses his lips, and runs a tongue along his less than perfect teeth. 

“We haven’t talked in ages. I’m not sure what you’d possibly have to say,” Tweek quips. Craig’s eyebrows raise, not expecting the sass. The surprised look is only momentary, because he slides right back into being suave. 

“I know,” he begins gently, “I think we should talk. How would you like to have dinner with me?”

It’s Tweek’s turn to be shocked. Craig is moving fast. His eyes flash back to Cartman who is looking angrier the longer they talk. Tweek thinks dinner might not be so bad. “Okay. Let’s go.” He finishes the smoke and puts it out. He and Craig make eye contact, and Craig is the first to break it which makes Tweek feel triumphant. He’s glad Craig probably can’t tell how bad he’s shaking. 

“Let me go tell my coach, and grab my bag. Is that okay?” Craig cocks his head, something boyish and cute, like a puppy. 

“Sure,” Tweek waves him off as he sees Bebe’s car pull up. “I’ll meet you here in a couple. I gotta go say bye to my friends.” 

Craig’s surprised at how easy that was. He smirks at Cartman, then jogs over to let his coach know he’s leaving early and will make it up at another practice. He heads back to the bleachers to grab his backpack. Clyde whistles low as he approaches, “I can’t believe he spoke to you.” 

“Me either,” Token seems intrigued.  
“Ten bucks, please,” Craig holds out his hand and makes a ‘gimme’ motion. Cartman is so red in the face he looks like he might combust. Craig sincerely hopes he does. 

“Fucking...fine.” Cartman grinds out between a clenched jaw. He slammed a $10 bill into Craig’s hand and stares at Tweek, who is leaning on the passenger side of Bebe’s car talking to Kenny McCormick. “Enjoy the slut,” Cartman then heads down the bleachers, bumping into Craig’s shoulder as he goes. Craig doesn’t move. He’s just as strong and sturdy, if not more so than Cartman. 

“God I hate that guy,” Token says, and his friends hum in agreement. “You’re not really gonna try to fuck Tweek, are you?” Token looks serious, and Craig flips him off. “Oh fuck you too, Craig. Don’t fucking play around with his feelings again. It’s not fair.” And Craig wants to argue, and snap, but deep down he knows Token is right. 

He did a shitty thing. 

So instead he just says, “It’s just dinner. I’ll talk to you guys later.” They wave him off, but don’t get up to leave. 

While Craig is speaking to his friends, Tweek is filling his in on the scheme. Bebe’s eyes are fiery and she looks like she might get out of the car and fight Cartman. “That pig,” she snarls, blonde hair quivering, “I’ll break his jaw. Want me to break his jaw?” Her eyes lock with Tweek and he feels his heart beat and swell with love for his friend. 

“That is very kind, but no. I need you two to help me plan this revenge. I’m not sure I’m smart enough to do this myself.” 

“Hey,” Kenny says, “You’re a lot more devious than this town gives you credit for. But I’m down.” His face is wide in a handsome grin. “I’m down to ruin both their lives, to be honest. They both deserve it after what they put you through.” Kenny’s voice drops low. Kenny picked Tweek up off Token’s closest floor, a weeping and screaming mess. Kenny had taken Tweek home and stayed with him so he didn’t do something rash. Kenny had stole him cigarettes and made him (burnt) coffee. Kenny helped Tweek heal from his betrayal. Kenny was a true bro. 

Tweek smiles softly at them both. “You both rock. I’m going to dinner with him. Can you believe he asked me?” 

Kenny is staring behind Tweek, eyes squinted and lips pursed. “Cartman just paid your boy $10, I think.” 

Tweek freezes and almost whirls. “That bitch.” He doesn’t know which person he means at this point. “Plan: make their lives hell is a go. I’ll begin immediately. I’ll let you guys know when I’m home.” Bebe and Kenny agree and for good measure they shoot a glare in Craig’s direction. If Craig notices he doesn’t let on, just stops a foot or so behind Tweek, backpack slung over his shoulder, hip cocked and arms crossed. “Bye,” Tweek tells his friends who then are pulling away from the curb. Tweek eyes Craig Tucker, and tries to act cool.

“So,” he says, air of confidence to his normally demure and shaky voice, “Where are you taking me?”

Craig smirks, the corner of one lip quirks and he motions with his head for Tweek to follow. “How do you feel about a burger?” Craig asks, not looking at Tweek, not even acknowledging that he’s about to go on a date, for lack of better word, with someone he’s had a boner for for....years. No. He not thinking about that at all.

“Eh,” Tweek says, shrugging his shoulders. He considers having a cigarette but decided against it. He doesn’t want to give Craig second hand smoke, even though Craig is a jerk. “That’s fine. By the way give me $10.” He holds out a hand.

Craig looks confused, “Why?”

Tweek ignores the question, curls and uncurls his fingers. Craig wonders if Cartman and Tweek are in on this together, before deciding he doesn’t care and opens his wallet to slap the money into the taller boys hand. Tweek smiles when it’s done, shoving the money into his back pocket. “Thanks. Now let’s get down to the real reason you asked me out,” Tweek says as they approach Craig’s beat up white Chevy Aveo. It’s an old as fuck car and it barely runs but it’s a car and it gets him where he needs to go so Craig kind of loves it. Tweek plants his arms on top of the car and lays his chin on his forearms. Craig stares back at him from the other side, slightly intrigued and slightly annoyed at being given the 3rd degree.

He’s supposed he earned it, though. Craig bites his lip nervously, “Cartman bet me I couldn’t.”

Tweek’s eyebrows raise in wonder, but he smirks. Which tells Craig that Tweek knew. Craig scowls, “If you knew that then why agree?” He opens the door more forcefully than necessary and throws his backpack inside before climbing in. Tweek opens the passenger side and slides in without a word, still staring at Craig.

“I just wanted to see if you’d be honest.”

“Now that you know, and I gave you the money he gave me, you can get out.” Craig drops all pretense of niceness. Being in a confined area with Tweek is stifling. It’s stifling because Tweek is looking so good, and he smells like coffee because of course he does, and his hair is just as wild and Craig’s wonders if it’s still as soft as it had been. He finds his hands shaking, and he clenches them into fists.

Tweek leans his head back, rolls it to look at Craig who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Tweek likes that. Good, he thinks, let it make him uncomfortable. “I don’t think so. I was promised dinner,” he points out.

“I’m not your fucking meal ticket,” Craig snarls, starting the car.  
“It’s the least you can fucking do after trying to make a fool of me to my ex,” Tweek snaps back just as ferociously.

They stop and stare at one another. Craig feels like there’s something else to that, something deeper than what he’s saying on the surface. But Craig isn’t very good at subtext, and he’s not very good at understanding Tweek. At least not now. So he frowns and searches Tweek impassive face for an answer, a hint. He gets nothing: Tweek’s face is a blank canvas. Finally, as Craig shifts into gear, he says, “I didn’t do it to embarrass you.”

Tweek is looking out the window, chin in his palm. “Then why did you?” The words are soft. Tweek didn’t expect to be sitting here in his feelings, he wanted to hold onto the anger from earlier, and the disdain. But it’s gone, melted away. Everything around him is Craig and it makes his stupid heart hurt. He thought he was over this, the whole pining away thing. Apparently not. God, he wants a cigarette.

Craig purses his lips and thinks. There is no way Tweek knows about Cartman’s nasty bet, because Tweek can’t keep a secret. And it’s not like Craig agreed to it. He just had to man up for his male pride, and he did and he broke even as far as he’s concerned. But he’s still going to take Tweek to dinner because it’s the least he can do for... Craig lets out a loud sigh that makes Tweek jump. “Maybe I just fucking felt like it.”

Tweek snorts, “Maybe your pride hurt being told you couldn’t do something.”

“You got something more to fucking say to me? By all means, Tweek, say it.”

Tweek stills, and blinks rapidly twice before he again turns brown eyes on Craig. Craig stares ahead, keeps driving, doesn’t give Tweek the satisfaction of knowing his stomach is in knots. They approach McDonalds, and Craig parks the car. He turns to Tweek, his entire body, and gives him his full attention. Craig doesn’t know why he is itching for a fight. He just is. “Well?” He snaps irritably.

“It’s always about your pride, Craig. What you can do, versus what you can’t. And to your credit there isn’t much you can’t do,” Tweek says. “But you still can’t admit to yourself that you’re a piece of shit.” The words tumble out harshly. Tweek rolls down the passenger window (legitimately cranks it down, which is absurd for a car built in 2007) and lights a cigarette.

Craig looks like he wants to say something, but he isn’t sure what. His mouth opens and closes. “What? You want some kind of apology for 9th grade? I was confused, and I’m not anymore.” Liar, his brain screeches. His head is swimming with images, with Tweek’s scent, with the desire to apologize and reach out. But, he supposes, Tweek is right. Because he swallows these thoughts like a pill instead of admitting his folly.

Tweek takes a long drag and blows it into the cold Coloradan air. “Not an apology, but then again I never expected one.” He grabs his bag and kicks the door open, stepping out into the cold. Craig follows suit. “You know, I’m suddenly not hungry. I think I’ll just walk home.” He hikes his bag up and turns to walk away. Craig rounds the car. He doesn’t want Tweek to leave, but he doesn’t quite understand why. When Tweek sees Craig rounding the car out of the corner of his eye, he panics. Shit shit shit, he’s pushed Craig over the edge and now he’s going to get beat up. He jumps and his bag falls to the ground, spilling books, pencils and his empty coffee cup.

“F-fuck,” He stammers, and bends down to pick it up. Craig, feeling partially responsible, follows suit. Tweek isn’t paying attention to Craig, for once, and he manages to turn his face up as Craig is dipping down, somehow getting clipped in the eye with Craig’s elbow.

Tweek hisses in pain, and holds a hand to his left eye. Craig, still on the ground, putting Tweek’s things back into his bag, hears the noise and looks up. His face pales. “Oh shit, are you okay?” He grabs the bag and picks it up while reaching out to remove Tweek’s hand from his eye. Tweek lets him, ignoring the electricity when Craig’s warm fingers wrap around his thin wrist. Tweek trembles and blinks his left eye, the vision of Craig swimming and doubled. “Dude, you didn’t have to f-fucking hit me. I got the hint, you hate me.” His stammer is back and Tweek hates it.

“I’m so sorry,” Craig says, sincerity dripping in his voice, “Fuck dude. It looks like it’s going to bruise.”

“No shit it’s gonna bruise. You know I’m like a delicate peach,” Tweek attempts at humor as his vision stops swimming. His eye hurts though, so he just closes it. It’s easier that way. Tweek reaches out and snatches his bag, hauling it over his shoulder again. “Thanks for the evening, Craig. Have a good life,” he says with a wave before beginning his walk home. Craig thinks about stopping him, but in the end he just lets his outstretched hand fall.

“Yeah, see ya.”

-

It turned into a black eye. It’s not swollen, but it’s purple and blue and everyone is staring at him. He scowls as menacingly as he can, but he’s not very scary so no one takes him seriously. He tears into his sandwich, chewing far more aggressively than he means to. Bebe and Kenny are staring too, but they’re his best friends so it’s allowed.

“Tweek, do you want me to put some cover up over that?” Bebe asks.  
“N-no,” Tweek stammers around a mouthful of peanut butter and bananas, “It’s not that bad.”

“You look like a battered housewife on the Oxygen network original movies.” Kenny points out, thinking he’s helpful but he’s not being helpful at all as far as Tweek is concerned.

“Lifetime network,” Tweek corrects, “That’s where those movies are from. And I do not!”

But he does. Bebe and Kenny share a look with one another. Tweek doesn’t like the scrutiny and hastens to change the subject. “So I decided Craig can fuck himself and I’m done with my revenge plan.”

“That was quick,” Kenny says, leaning forward and placing his chin in the palm of his hands, “Didn’t take you for a pussy.” There’s a smirk on the blondes lips, and he accentuates the ‘p’ with a pop of said lips.

Tweek sighs, “It’s not worth it. Being around him is like... its way too stressful.”

“Cause you want his dick,” Kenny points out helpfully. Bebe elbows him. “What? It’s true. You’ve been hot for him since like 5th grade. And god knows he wants you, he’s just too stupid into his own machismo to admit he likes guys.” Tweek is aware that Kenny has a six sense for these things. Kenny is a people watcher, he’s quiet and he doesn’t insert himself much into things, but he notices events around him. He’s aware of things people generally don’t seem to know about themselves. It kinda freaks Tweek out. “Also is this a good time for the ‘I told you so’ dance? Because I told you so, about Cartman I mean.”

“Kenny, let up. It’s been one day let him mourn,” Bebe chides, looking up from her homework long enough to make Kenny know she’s serious.

“I’m not mourning,” Tweek says, and he’s not. Really, he should have broken up with Cartman months ago. “You were right, Kenny. Don’t r-rub it in.” Tweek tosses the remainder of his food in the brown paper sack.

“So why can’t we get revenge on Craig? He’s a beast. Sally dumped him because he wouldn’t commit to her.” Bebe says, back to her color coded notes and trig homework. She’s a good student, and Tweek admires that about her. Sometimes Tweek has moments where he can’t focus, and when his notes look like the hottest dog ass. So sometimes Bebe makes copies of her notes for him. It’s saved him from failing more times than he can remember. Bebe is a godsend.

“Weren’t they dating for like a month? She was writing ‘Mrs. Craig Tucker’ in her notebooks. I’m not surprised he got freaked out. Didn’t she also ask him for a promise ring? Sounds like he got out kinda easy,” Kenny points out. Tweek nods sagely in agreement. That is kinda fucking weird, even for a high schooler.

“He has a problem with commitment. He did that to Millie last year remember? He made her fall in love with him, then he left. He’s got an MO. I think it dates back to you, Tweek.” Bebe points a purple gel pen at him as if to make her point more clear. Tweek raises an eyebrow. “Well think about it,” she says and crosses her arms, “He’s, like, always bouncing around from person to person, he can’t commit because the person he wants to commit to,” she makes a motion toward Tweek at this, “Is unattainable.”

“I’m not unattainable,” Tweek grumbles, and shifts his gaze to the lunch table where Craig, Clyde and Token are seated. “I’m right here,” he spreads his arms in a wide gesture. The bell rings, dismissing lunch. Bebe packs her things, and Tweek throws away his lunch while Kenny picks at the matted fur on his parka.

“Yeah, but Tucker doesn’t get that. He’s dense. And stubborn,” Bebe comments as she zips up her bag and stands. The boys follow her movement and begin their walk to class.

“Sounds like someone I know,” Kenny teases, elbowing Tweek who pushes him.

“W-whatever. See you guys later,” he says, and turns down the hallway toward English class. And his brain is spinning with thoughts, and maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s why Craig is a serial dater. Maybe it does go back to him... maybe he should continue his revenge plan, if nothing more than to poke the bear.

Tweek sits down in his assigned seat, but doesn’t take out anything from his bag. He’s deep in thought when the bell rings, signaling that class has begun, and he doesn’t snap out of it until it’s over.

-

“So, she’s single, right?” Clyde asks, leaning against the lockers as Craig pulls his books out. He could care less about what Clyde is saying, but he’s catching bits and pieces. “Cause she’s like so pretty. And I thought McCormick had a claim, but her Facebook says she’s single, so that’s good right?” Clyde’s voice is hopeful and practically begging for reassurance. Craig stares dumbly at Clyde who is beaming at him, all wide smiles and boyish good looks.

Craig slams his locker, “Who are we discussing again?” They begin the walk to the school parking lot. It’s Friday. The weekend is before them in all it’s glory. Additional students mill about, talking loudly about plans and projects due and various sports. Craig tunes them out, and hurries his stride. Clyde keeps in line, but he’s looking around for Someone. They exit the school and past the ugly yellow buses. Clyde hasn’t answered and continues to gaze around for his mystery person. Finally he grabs Craig’s arm and points, very obviously, towards Bebe Stevens. Craig blinks. “Bebe?” He says flatly.

“Dude, yes.” Clyde whines and sighs. Bebe is pretty, Craig supposes, but not his type. She’s leaning against the wall next to Tweek. Craig’s eyes zero in on Tweek. Tweek’s left eye is black, and Craig winces. He did that. He feels like shit for it, even if it was an accident. “Did you know she and Tweek are close? You should go ask him about her for me.” Clyde ribs Craig in the elbows teasingly, tongue stuck out in between his teeth.

“No,” Craig responds.  
“What? Dude, cmon. Please?”  
“No,” Craig says, continuing to stare.

“Don’t you have a bet to win? You should really be working on that if you want to win,” Clyde says.

“I didn’t agree to that bet,” Craig snaps, “You know that.”

Clyde waves him off, “I know, I just want you to be my wingman and get some sweet intel so I can get Bebe to be my prom date.”

“You can’t just ask her?” Craig raises an eyebrow, looking annoyed.  
“Bro,” Clyde sighs, “No way. I need more information first.”

Craig glances back over to Tweek, clad in a brown coat and a dark green scarf, whose blonde hair is wildly untamed as usual, and his thin face is pulled into a wide, genuine grin. Craig’s heart hammers. He touches his chest, rubs little circles like he’s trying to ward off heartburn or something. Tweek suddenly turns, and catches Craig’s eyes. Oh fuck, Craig thinks, and tries to glare. Tweek’s eyes shake then pass over him. It’s brief, but it made Craig kind of forget how to breathe. “Jesus Christ,” he groans and socks Clyde in the arm for something to do.

“What the heck!”

“Find your own ride home. I’m going in,” Craig huffs. Clyde smiles.

“You’re gonna do it?”  
“Yes, dude. Now fuck off. This is gonna be uncomfortable for me. So you fucking owe me,” Craig retorts before heading towards Tweek and Bebe. It takes him no time at all, people tend to move out of their way for him. Once he’s in front of the two he pauses, unsure what to say, how to act. So he goes for the normal.

“Tweek, can I speak to you?”

Tweek jumps at the sound of his voice, nearly dropping his bag again. Craig smirks. Bebe is glaring daggers at Craig, and it’s making Craig just a bit uncomfortable, but he continues to ignore her. “Uh,” Tweek’s eyes dart back and forth between the two, “Sure? I’ll see you later, Bebe.”

“Bye, Tweek,” she says softly, warmly, and touches his wild mane of hair. Tweek closes his eyes and leans into the touch, like it’s a gesture that makes him happy and he does look content. Bebe’s hands fall away and she shoots one dangerous look at Craig before knocking into him purposefully on her way past. Craig flips her off with both fingers. Tweek laughs.

“What?” Craig asks.  
“Some things never change,” Tweek observes. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“I want to know about Bebe,” Craig says matter of factly. Tweek deflates a little, because who wouldn’t want to know about Bebe? She’s great. She’s beautiful and smart and funny and a huge dork. Tweek thinks if he was straight he’d have a crush on Bebe. So it’s no surprise that Craig does, but it still hurts his bruised ego. “Don’t do that,” Craig says, snapping Tweek out of it. They’re closing in on Craig’s car. Craig unlocks the doors and they file in once more. This is becoming a pattern, being in cars together. Tweek isn’t sure how he feels about it aside from the single minded desire to pull Craig over the gear shift and make out with him.

“Don’t do what?” Tweek parrots.  
“Get all mopey. I’m not interested in Bebe.” Tweek visibly brightens at this. He looks down, to hide the smile, and fiddles with the latch on his backpack.

“Then why do you want to know?”  
“Clyde seems to think she shits rainbows. He wants to ask her to prom, but he wants more information before he makes a fool of himself. And Bebe looks kind of vacant to me.”

Tweek is offended by this, and opens his mouth to give Bebe the sterling recommendation she deserves when Craig holds up a hand, effectively silencing him. “I don’t wanna talk about it here. Let’s go to Stark’s Pond.” Craig doesn’t know why he said that. They could very well talk in the car on the way to Tweek’s home. It could be over and done with in 10 minutes. “It’s nice out, not too cold, and I can grab some snacks and we can sit on a park bench and you can tell me about Bebe.” He’s justifying spending time with Tweek, god knows why, but the thought is exciting.

Tweek mulls this over. The thought of spending time with Craig is exciting. And he IS hungry. “Okay,” is all he says with a grin as they make their way towards the park. They make a brief stop at Craig’s home. “Stay here,” Craig orders and bolts into the home, leaving the car on for Tweek. Tweek snoops through the glove compartment, in the back seat and kicks the discarded wrappers at his feet. Nothing interesting. Five minutes later Craig is back out with a grocery bag of items, and a thermos in hand. He yells into the house, something Tweek cannot hear, and then is shutting the door. Once back in the car he hands the thermos to Tweek and lays the bag down by his feet.

“Coffee,” Craig says and starts the car, backing out quickly and driving to their destination. Tweek is touched by the gesture. He eyes the opening of the bag and sees sodas, a water, various chips and some cookies. Tweek doesn’t do soda, and water is boring so he’s thankful for Craig’s thoughtfulness. “It’s probably not as good as you like, but it’s all we had.” Craig offers by way of explanation.

“Thank you,” Tweek breathes and opens the lid of the thermos. He inhales the scent, and takes a small sip. Craig’s right, it’s swill compared to what he normally drinks, but he takes a gulp regardless. There’s a small hint of cinnamon and Tweek grins. “Did you put cinnamon in this?”

He watches Craig flush, going red from his neck to his ears. Tweek loves cinnamon. He didn’t think Craig ever paid attention. He didn’t think Craig would remember after this long, either.

Craig pulls up to the park and turns the car off. He reaches over, encroaching into Tweek’s space to grab the bags of snacks and makes a movement to get out. Tweek follows, leaving his bag in the car but taking the coffee and his phone, just in case. 

-

Bebe watches Tweek and Craig get into Craig’s car and drive off. Her eyes linger, and then they trail to the person she really wants to talk to. Clyde Donovan. Craig’s best friend. It’s not that Tweek can’t take care of himself, he can. But that has never stopped Bebe from intervening on his behalf.

She shoots a text to Kenny, requesting assistance, checks her makeup in her compact before snapping it shut and walking over. She’s almost to Clyde when Kenny sidles up to her, hands in his pockets and a mischievous look in his blue eyes. “What’s the plan?” He asks, eyeing Clyde who has noticed Bebe coming in his direction. Poor kid looks like a deer in the headlights. Token is also looking at them, curious but wary. Bebe loops her arms through Kenny’s and takes a left to the benches near the parking lot. She sits down, crosses her long legs and gives one last, long look at Clyde before smiling and turning away.

“We’re doing recon for Tweek. Craig left with him. I’m highly suspicious. I’ve got Clyde, but I need you to take Token.”

Kenny, who has sat down and mimicked Bebe’s body language sends a glance at the two aforementioned boys. Clyde has his hands on Token’s coat and is pulling him in their direction. “Okay,” he says, “What’re we trying to find out?”

“Whatever we can,” Bebe says and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Kenny grins at her as Clyde and Token stop in front of them. “Hello, boys.” She coos, voice sickly sweet and far too seductive. Clyde walks around the back of the bench so he can lean down next to Bebe’s ear. Token stays put in front of them, looking uneasy.

“Token, my man, how’s it going?” Kenny greets.  
“It’s fine. How are you?”  
Kenny’s grin widens, “I live the dream every day. Come, sit next to papa.” Kenny pats the cold bench. Token raises an eyebrow and slowly sits down. “I hear tell that your best friend is out with my best friend. And I’m curious if you happen to know why.”

Token blinks, and tries to look at Clyde who is legitimately making heart eyes at Bebe, who looks like she is talking to a man she doesn’t know very well. “You’ll have to be more specific, as I have two,” Token responds.

“Craig.”  
“Craig? Who is he out with?” Token doesn’t recall seeing Craig after last period, and he assumed he’d fled before having to give Clyde a ride home. It happens more than you would think. Token goes through the Rolodex in his head of people Craig could be out with, and then cross references with who he sees Kenny with most often.

Kenny waits a beat, watches Token’s mind work before supplying the answer, “Tweek. Craig is out with Tweek.”

Token freezes, turns slowly as if he’s in disbelief. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“You know I could for you, baby,” Kenny croons, leaning in way too close to Token’s face. Token has played this game before and doesn’t move, doesn’t let his mask of calm, collected curiosity slip. Kenny stays a hairs width from Token’s lips, breath fanning over the other boys face. “I said Craig is out with Tweek. And I’m just curious what your super star friend could want with someone he called a ‘fag’,” the word is snarled out between teeth, bitter and forced, “in 9th grade.”

Token grimaces at the ‘f’ word. He doesn’t like that word. At all. He remembers Cartman and his vicious bet, the one Craig declined and the one he accepted. His mouth twists into a frown. He can’t imagine what Craig could be talking to Tweek about. 

Craig had come back the previous night and bitched about the disaster of a ‘date’ he had taken Tweek on. “I gave him a bruise. I am the fucking worst,” Craig had moaned over FaceTime. He’d looked remorseful, Token remembers thinking.

“I don’t know,” Token answers honestly.

Kenny appraises him, eyes boring into Token’s skull. Kenny believes him. Token wouldn’t lie, even if he did know. Which he doesn’t. The blonde leans back. “I don’t either,” Kenny says exasperated.

-

Craig doesn’t recall who started it. If he was hard pressed he’d think they’re both at fault. But deep down, I mean really deep down, he knows he initiated it.

-

Tweek had been pointing out all of Bebe’s good points (ie: “she’s brilliant, dude”, “her boobs are so perky!”, “she has excellent taste and is super independent,” “she’s a great dancer, even in heels”). He’d been sipping on the coffee, and enjoying the light breeze. The sun was still up, but beginning to set. He and Craig were sitting in the top of a wooden bench at Stark’s Pond, knees touching. Craig was picking apart a donut he’d forgotten to eat at breakfast, popping little morsels into his mouth and licking the chocolate off of his thumbs.

“Let me have some of that,” Craig asked, nodding his chin in the direction of the thermos. Tweek, who had been about to take another sip, stopped. He handed it over to Craig who took a large gulp. Tweek watched Craig’s throat bob, and stared. He remembered the taste of Craig’s skin on his tongue, he remembers the noises Craig made as his teeth bit at the skin. It’s making Tweek hot, and he looks away, looks anywhere but at Craig.

Craig, meanwhile, is side eyeing Tweek. The blonde is staring out across the pond, eyes wavering and taking it all in. There’s not a lot of beauty in South Park, but this could be considered one of them. 

(Do I mean Tweek or the pond? Craig wonders) 

He takes in Tweek’s profile: the angular chin, the long nose, the large eyes and long eye lashes. Tweek sighs and closes his eyes. His hair ruffles in the soft breeze, and Craig can smell his shampoo. He remembers his hands tangled in Tweek’s hair, how if he tugged he’d get soft moans, he remembers inhaling Tweek’s scent and it making him dizzy as Tweek licked and kissed him all over.

Craig picks at the donut and eats another piece for something to do other than think about Tweek. “Can I have that back?” Tweek asks softly. Craig stares up at him, then follows his eye sight to the coffee.

“Oh, sure,” Craig says and grabs the thermos to hand it over. Tweek’s fingers brush against his and the thermos changes hands. Tweek grimaces and places the thermos down, looking at a chocolate smudge on his hand from Craig’s donut.

“Way to be messy, Craig,” Tweek teases and takes a napkin from the food bag to clean the thermos. Craig stares at Tweek’s thumb, smudged with chocolate. Tweek is cleaning the thermos with his clean hand so he doesn’t notice Craig shift in closer, and reach out. Craig’s fingers wrap around Tweek’s wrist, gently, and pull it close. Tweek freezes and his eyes shoot up to look at Craig.

“C-Craig?” Tweek whisperers, voice soft, air whooshing from his lungs at the contact. Craig’s hand is warm, his grip just tight enough that Tweek can’t pull away quickly (why would he want to?). Craig’s eyes look into Tweek’s, and Tweek feels heat pool in his chest, and....other places. He knows that look. He hasn’t seen that look in years. His mouth opens, maybe to tell Craig to let him go, maybe to say something, anything. Nothing comes out.

Craig pulls Tweek’s hand to his mouth, and puts Tweek’s thumb in between his lips.


	2. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is a small scene of child abuse about halfway through. I will try to italicize it so you are aware. It is not necessarily super graphic, but I did want to provide fair warning for everyone.

So, Tweek thinks, your thumb is in Craig Tucker’s mouth. Craig Tucker. Whom you’ve have a crush on since the dawn on time, practically. Craig Tucker who moans when you kiss his neck. Craig Tucker who can run a mile in like two seconds. Craig Tucker who pushed you away and called you a....

 

Tweek banishes that last thought. It is not conducive to a good environment; and his current environment is very, very good. His brown eyes are locked onto his thumb which is in between Craig’s lips. His mouth is gaping a little bit, and when Craig’s tongue sweeps over the digit he feels a small moan slip out. His face goes beet red as Craig’s eyes snap open and look at him.

 

There’s a flicker of realization, perhaps hesitation. Tweek feels his thumb sliding out of Craig’s warm mouth. His breath hitches as Craig leans in. Tweek knows he shouldn’t let this happen. This is not part of the plan. He has to be strong, remember that damn bet, but Craig’s so close that Tweek can smell his aftershave or deodorant or what the fuck EVER. It’s intoxicating. How cliché, his brain taunts.

 

His mouth is still slightly ajar when Craig pushes a piece of doughnut in it. Tweek sputters, coughs and clamps his mouth down. The chocolate dissolves on his tongue and he chews the good, but slightly stale, doughnut. “Jesus Christ, dude,” he sighs, swallowing. “Warn me before you do something like that, nghh.” He twitches a little, exclamation coming out before he can stop it. That’s mostly under control now but sometimes, if he’s under pressure or stress, he can’t help it.

 

“Which thing?” Craig asks, cocking his head to the side. He knows he’s being a smart ass. But his heart is thundering behind his ribs, and most sound has faded out to background noise. His eyes focus on Tweek’s lips, the full bottom lip that’s slightly pouty, the small dab of chocolate that is still there. Craig licks his own lips, realizes what he’s thinking and clenches his jaw. There’s so many bad thoughts running through his head, so many things his body is itching to do, that his brain is half on board with.

 

Like pinning Tweek to the table and straddling his thin frame, bending over and cupping the vulpine face in his hands, smashing their lips together.

 

He wants to hear Tweek moan again.

 

He feels himself getting hard(er), his cock pushing against the stiff denim in his jeans. Tweek is still rambling, babbling almost incoherently. Would it be so bad, Craig thinks, to just indulge? He’s been so fucking good for so long. He deserves a reward, and the taste of Tweek’s skin is still on his tongue and god, he wants more.

 

“You can’t just like, ngh, go putting stuff in people’s mouths all unawares. And I know how that sounds, don’t make a dirty joke this is serious. What if I had choked? Oh my god what if you poisoned the doughnuts and this is some suicide pact. Oh my god, oh my god they’re going to find our bodies together and they’ll think it was a love suicide pact. Like in ‘Heathers’. Craig, I’m too beautiful to die right now. I haven’t even-” his words as cut off quickly by Craig who is leaning forward, dipping his head down, breath fanning over Tweek’s face. Craig pulls on Tweek’s dark green scarf, dragging him forward.

 

“Shut up, Tweek,” Craig whispers, and connects their lips. Tweek’s hands grip his jeans because if he doesn’t do this his hands are going to fly up, deft fingers finding their way under Craig’s chullo hat, and into soft, messy locks of hair. He feels his body shake, tension coiling in every part of his body.

 

Craig’s lips are soft, and warm against his own chapped ones. Craig’s lips are full and nice; Tweek’s are thin and kinda suck. (Craig would disagree.) Craig pushes into Tweek, a hand snaking up to cup Tweek’s cheek. Tweek melts. He absolutely melts into Craig’s touch, the warmth seeping into every pore of his being. He moans, let’s his mouth slip open. Craig presses forward, deepening their kiss, and feeling himself getting more and more worked up.

 

Tweek tastes so good. He smells so good. He feels good in Craig’s hand. “Fuck,” he feels himself moan out when they come up for air. Tweek’s eyes are shiny as glass, and his mouth opens slightly as if he’s about to say something. Craig is on him again before Tweek can say anything, lips pressed together sloppily, teeth biting the other boys bottom lip, tongue darting out to taste him.

 

It hits Craig like a freight train that he missed this. He’s been waiting for this for years. The need and want and yearning making him hollow in all his other relationships. He can’t remember why he told Tweek no. Why he said that horrible, deplorable word, and pushed him away. They were best friends. They were more than friends. Craig wants to eat Tweek alive, taste every part of him, touch fire down Tweek’s pale skin, make him keen and moan and whine. He feels Tweek shifting under him, and then he’s on top of Tweek, chests pressed together. And fuck. Craig can feel that Tweek is just as hard as he is. Craig grinds against Tweek, and kisses him deeply.

 

Tweek’s brain has turned into a puddle and obviously slipped from his head. He’s in heaven, he thinks. He lets himself be laid back on the bench, fully aware they’re in public, and that snow is seeping into his coat. Craig has loosened his grip on Tweek’s scarf, and it’s so hot that Tweek throws it to the side, places cold, nimble hands under Craig’s shirt, feels the muscles ripple and tighten as Craig hisses, but doesn’t pull back. His hands trail down Craig’s torso, down the soft skin, and over taut muscle, the sharp bones of his hip. He’s gonna go for it, he thinks, fingers slipping past the elastic of Craig’s boxers.

 

And then Craig moves a little too fast, teeth clacking against Tweek’s, cutting his lip. They both curse. Craig pulls back, face twisted in a snarl, and one hand coming up to defend himself.

 

“Get off him!” Bebe’s voice cuts through the haze in Tweek’s mind.

“Quit it, you fucking psychopath!” Craig snaps back, getting off Tweek (no, he whines internally).

 

It’s then that Tweek realizes they have an audience. Clyde and Kenny are looking humored, even enthusiastic. Token is looking like he’s torn between stepping in and backing off. Bebe is hurling her purse at Craig, smacking him repeatedly. Tweek feels panic replace all the other good warm feelings. Maybe if he stays really still he can sink in and become one with this wooden table.

 

Craig is furious. “Can you stop it, please?” He yells the last word and catches Bebe’s purse in one hand, wrenching it away. He’s vaguely aware of Tweek propping himself up on his elbows, and touching his fingers to his bloody lip. Craig winces, and moves to apologize when Bebe swoops in with a fucking monogrammed handkerchief.

 

“Thanks,” Tweek’s voice is soft and small as he takes the offered item and dabs his lip. His eyes dart to Craig before he’s blushing and looking away.

 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bebe growls at him.

“What did it look like?” Craig snaps back, getting off the table and standing to his full height. Bebe doesn’t flinch or back down, her eyes narrowed and lip pulled into a sneer.

 

She’s so small, he thinks, and dainty like some kind of doll- with her big eyes and glossy lips and curly hair.

 

So he’s taken aback when she pushes him.

 

Tweek squeaks out a gasp and stands up, placing a hand on Bebe’s shoulder. “Stop, ngh. Please.” He’s shaking, but he can’t tell from what exactly.

 

“Nice boner, Craig!” Kenny whoops. Craig turns his hateful gaze to Kenny. Clyde ribs Kenny with an elbow, mutters something about that not being cool. He can’t beat up a girl, that’s not acceptable. He could beat up Kenny though. He starts to make a beeline for the ratty looking blonde, fists clenched at his side, nails making crescents in his palms. He needs to let this energy out somehow and punching Kenny McCormick in his face seems like a good idea.

 

Kenny bounces on his feet, moves his head back and forth to crack the joints. He’s ready to fight Craig, too. Has been for years. Kenny raises his hands, makes fists and readies himself to beat the ever loving fuck out of Craig Tucker.

 

“Stop!” Tweek shouts, darting in between them. He holds his hands out to separate them. Kenny looks surprised, but drops his fists and holds up his open hands as a sign of defeat. Token is at Craig’s side, pulling him back, and whispering in his ear.

 

“How dare you kiss him like that,” Bebe’s voice is trembling. All eyes dart to her. “How fucking dare you Craig Tucker? What gives you the right to kiss him like that?” She jabs a manicured finger in his direction.

 

“Since when is it your business, Stevens?”

 

“Since always. He’s my best friend. Who’re you?” Her beautiful face is twisted in anger. It’s almost enough to make Craig feel slightly bad. “And what right do you have to call him a f-“ she stumbles, wont say the word, “a horrible name, and treat him so horribly, and still get to kiss him like that?”

 

Tweek feels himself panicking, feels his breath coming out in small gasps, feels his hands tangling in his hair. He needs a cigarette. He wants coffee. He wants Craig’s mouth, and his cock and.... “S-stop. Please stop arguing. Bebe, can we go home, please?” He whines, turns coffee eyes at his friend who is looking at him like she doesn’t want to stop, like she wants to go to war for him. He hazards a glance at Craig who looks mollified, red from blush and maybe embarrassment.

 

“Sure, Tweek. Let’s go,” she says, placing a hand on his back. They begin to walk away, and Craig wishes he was ballsy enough to tell them to stop, come back. Please. Kenny smirks at Craig and sticks his tongue out, juvenile and snarky.

 

Craig flips him off. He turns back to the table and sees Tweek’s scarf laying there, abandoned. He snatches it and bolts, catching up to the blonde in seconds. His arm reaches out to catch Tweek’s sleeve. Tweek whirls, eyes wide. His brain supplies: this is when he punches you, Tweek. He winces, closes his eyes and braces for it. It was worth it, he thinks, to be able to kiss Craig again.

 

“You forgot this,” Craig’s nasally voice says, and then Tweek feels warm, soft, yarn wrap around his neck. He opens one eye, and sees Craig looking at him with soft eyes, and a lopsided grin that makes his eyes crinkle. Tweek almost cries, because he’s so handsome. He wants him so bad; it's not fair.

 

Craig finishes wrapping the scarf around Tweek’s neck and then, because he’s being too nice, he flips the tail end in Tweek’s face making him squawk in surprise. “See ya.” He says and turns to head back to his friends, while Bebe and Kenny drag Tweek to their car.

 

-

 

“What were you thinking?” Bebe screeches, pushing wind-whipped hair from her face and glancing in the rear-view mirror at Tweek who is curled up in the backseat, pouting and dazed and tonguing the wound on his lip.

 

“You can st-stop chiding me, MOM,” he sarcastically replies.

 

“I gotta tell you, man,” Kenny butts in, turning in the passenger seat so his butt sticks out as he hugs the seat. “Seeing Tucker dry hump you was something right out of my dreams.” Tweek shoots a leg out to stomp on Kenny’s hand. He misses, and glowers. Instead of responding to either of his so-called BFF's he works a cigarette from inside its pack and puts it between his lips. Bebe won’t let him light it, but the action of having it ready is comforting. Kenny, unable to be deterred, leans in further to Tweek, “Did you see how big his cock was? The whole damn circus was in that tent.” He throws back his head and laughs loudly.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tweek groans as Bebe’s hand darts out to right Kenny in his seat.

“You’re unbelievable,” Bebe chastises. She sighs like she’s surrounded by idiots, and she just might be. They pull up to Tweek’s house, Bebe pulling her e-brake before turning. “Listen, I don’t know what happened out there-“

 

“Nothing happened. A mistake,” Tweek says flatly.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” she says softly, kindly.

“He made a mistake. It won’t happen again,” Who is he trying to kid he wonders. Bebe purses her lips. “It didn’t mean anything.” He says again, desperate for them to believe him. If they believe him then he can believe it, and it won't hurt so badly to think of it.

 

“It looks like it meant something. That’s okay, Tweek. You know that right?” Bebe questions.

 

Tweek stares at her, unsure of how to respond. He feels something crumble inside him; a wall that’s about to fall down. A wall that’s been chipped at for years- from losing Craig and his friendship, to losing Clyde and Token, too; from his self worth declining, his depression and anxiety spiraling, to his parents (doing their best) who try to remind him to have normal experiences he just cannot have, and to the stupid Cartman thing, which just reinforces how stupid he is, deep down inside.

 

His face scrunches up in an attempt to stop the tears that are threatening to spill out. Both Bebe and Kenny are over the middle console and in the backseat with him in one minute. He generally hates being touched, but he pulls at both their jackets so they get close, and gently wrap him in a hug that more resembles a Tweek sandwich. He hiccups a sob out, feels warm tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

 

“Fuck!!” He screams into Kenny’s tattered parka and lets his friends whisper words of comfort.

 

-

 

“What was UP with that, huh?” Clyde asks, plopping down onto the table and rifling through the bag of food stuffs. He opens a snack sized bag of chips and shoves a handful inside his mouth, crunching loudly and with an open mouth. Craig joins him, his head in his hands, doubled over so far that he’s curled into a tight ball. “I mean, whoa boy! I’m not into guys, but that was still pretty hot.”

 

“There’s no way you’re straight,” Token deadpans, taking the opposite side of Craig. Craig lets out a humorless laugh but otherwise doesn’t move.

 

“I never said I was. Sexuality is like...a spectrum or something. I know when something is hot though,” he points out while shoveling more chips into his mouth. Token looks at him with stern eyes before he pats Craig on the back.

 

“You want to talk about this now or later?” Token asks.

“Never,” Craig groans and lifts his head up, arching it back so his neck stretches out. He never wants to talk about it. His dad's angry face flashes behind his eyelids. He hears the phrase, “No son of mine is gonna be a faggot.” It reverbs in his head making him dizzy.

 

Token clicks his tongue, “Well, you’re going to. So. Now or later?” Token’s tone of voice tells Craig he has no choice. And he does kind of want to talk about it, but if he talks about it then he has to...accept his feelings. Which are uncomfortable. And new. “How about I start?” Token offers, swinging one leg over the other, “I think that you have a crush on Tweek. I think you've had a crush on him since fifth grade. I think you need to man the fuck up and admit it.” Craig stares at Token, wide green eyes shaking at the statement.

 

“I second that,” Clyde pipes up.

 

“Traitor,” Craig snarls, “I do not like him. I don’t have a crush on him. I just... I’m sexually frustrated since the thing with Millie.”

“Sally,” his friends correct which just serves to piss him off and frazzle him worse.

 

“I don’t like men,” he says, head swiveling to look at both his friends, his eyes pleading them to believe him. “I don’t like Tweek,” his voice is strained. He needs them to say they believe him, they understand, it’s cool. He feels so weak, needing confirmation to keep up the hideous lies he’s telling himself and everyone else. “I don’t,” his voice cracks, and he doubles back over, frustrated and annoyed and angry and so stupid.

 

Token and Clyde look at each other with concern. This has been a long time coming, they’re both aware of that. Craig’s usually so far in denial there’s no point to try to get him out of it. They’re aware that Thomas Tucker is a mean man; the patriarch of his home that he rules with an iron fist like some kind of medieval king. They know the things Thomas has said to Craig, the things his mother has turned away from, the pressures of the first born son to Make Our Family Proud. It’s such a stark difference from their own homes that it would be hard to believe if they hadn’t witnessed it tear their friend down, beaten into a pulp, molded back into the All-American Boy he pretends to be day in and day out.

 

But sometimes when Craig thinks no one is paying attention his body sags from the weight he carries, the exhaustion spreads across his face in waves.

 

These are the things Token and Clyde notice.

 

“You know, we don’t care if you’re gay,” Token begins gently.

“I’m not!” Craig roars.

“Sure. But we want you to know that if you were. Shit. If you were just Tweek-sexual we’d be cool with it. Whatever makes you happy,” Clyde jumps in. He wraps his arms around Craig’s shoulder, placing his cheek on the boys shoulder.

 

Tweek-sexual; Craig mulls that thought over. He’s never been attracted to anyone that isn’t Tweek to be honest. Even with all the girls he dated he could never get turned on, could never get even half the feeling that he got from Tweek. Maybe that’s it. Would that be so bad? Tweek is beautiful, and strange, and smart and funny. And his touches light a fire inside Craig that’s been dying since middle school.

 

He takes a shuddering gulp of breath, places his head on top of Clyde who hasn’t moved. Token is watching him warily, like a scared animal that could lash out or bolt at any time. Craig reaches out to touch Token’s shoulder, and the other boy lets out a sigh, grins widely.

 

They don’t say anything else about it, but none of them need to.

 

-

 

Craig drives home alone in silence. He taps his fingers nervously on the steering wheel and thinks. Where does he go from here?

 

After their moment Clyde had joked about Craig getting to have his cake and eat it too, “You could bang your dream boy AND have Cartman pay you $1k.”

 

Craig looked at him quizzically, forgetting he’d been offered such a bet. Clyde had clarified, to which Craig grew red and snapped, “I didn’t make that bet”.

 

“Sure, Craig.” Clyde winked.

 

They’d separated and headed home. Craig had gotten in the car and noticed Tweek’s schoolbag at the foot of the passenger side. He sighed, knowing he’d have to get in contact to give it back and hope Tweek didn’t lose his mind in the meantime.

 

Truthfully part of him was elated that he could see Tweek again. He had been thinking more on the situation, mulling over ideas and concepts and wants and hopes and dreams. He missed Tweek, truly missed his company. And maybe they could work something out.

 

Craig’s in better spirits when he pulls into his driveway. He collects his and Tweek’s belongings (knowing that if the blonde knew Craig had left his items in the car that he’d panic). He unlocks his front door and steps inside to a quiet home. No television. No radio. No chatter, or noises from the kitchen. Nothing.

 

Home sweet home, he thinks, trying not to let it ruin his mood. He makes for the stairs, but as he’s halfway up he hears his name being called. “Craig. C’mere,” his dads gruff voice calls out from the dimly lit kitchen.

 

Thomas Tucker sits in one of the old kitchen chairs, far larger than the chair itself, his massive body spilling over the sides. There’s a beer on the table, condensation dripping down the side, and a small bowl of pretzels that looks halfway tucked into. There’s little specks of pretzel salt on the place mats, Craig notices. Thomas looks at Craig with hard, dark eyes, hands folded atop the table as though they’re about to have some civil conversation. “Sit down, boy.” His dad says nodding at the chair across from him.

 

Craig obeys. He lets his backpack and Tweek’s slide to the floor, puts on his unfazed mask and makes eye contact with his dad.

 

“Whose backpack is that?” Thomas nods at Tweek’s satchel.

“A friends,” Craig responds.

“Hmph. The same friend you went out with when you skipped the last half of track practice yesterday?” The words are even and deliberate. If you weren’t used to this tone you wouldn’t think anything of it. But Craig knows what this tone means, and it’s not good. He treads carefully.

 

“I was asked by a schoolmate to tutor him. He came to me for help with his studies. You’re always telling me to help out, that it looks good.” Craig hopes his lie comes out smoothly, hopes that appealing to Thomas’s good side, that it will soften any damage that’s about to come his way. “I was trying to set a good example for us. For the family.” He’s surprised his voice is so calm, because under the table his hands are shaking.

 

Thomas grunts, knocks back a gulp of beer and wipes the condensation on his polo shirt. “Not worth it if it’s getting in the way of your achievements. I don’t need you helping out the local idiots at the expense of falling behind in your extracurriculars. Coach said you left half an hour early,” his dad eyes him, searching his sons face for a reaction.

 

“I did,” Craig admits with a shrug.

“He told me you also beat your personal record.”

“I did.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” Thomas rubs at his chin as though in thought. “I don’t want you missing any more track practice. Tutor the dumbass kids all you want in your spare time. Tuesday and Thursday you give coach your full attention.” The words are final; there’s no use arguing.

 

Craig nods, “Sir. May I go upstairs now?” He can’t seem too eager, he’s getting out of this so easy right now. He can’t push his luck.

 

After a beat Thomas stands up, his belly pushing the table back a little, wobbling the beer and the vase of flowers his mom has put out. The tile in the kitchen creaks under the weight. Craig stares at his dad. “Go. But don’t throw away your shot, Craig. You have more potential than any one in this goddamn town can comprehend and I won’t have you wasting it. You’re going to make up those missed minutes tomorrow morning. I already scheduled it with your coach.” With that Thomas Tucker grabs his beer and leaves.

 

Craig waits until he hears the basement door shut before getting up and bolting for his room. He makes it there, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He lets his and Tweek’s bag fall to the ground, before feeling his legs quiver under him. “Stop,” He wills aloud. His thighs shake and he stumbles over to his bed, collapsing and taking deep breaths.

 

He’s so lucky he didn’t get in more trouble. So fucking lucky. He feels all the anxiety roll off of him and it makes him want to cry. It shouldn’t be this way.

 

-

 

“ _You think you’re such a big fucking guy, huh, Craig?” His father roars, the sound like standing near a waterfall. Craig’s vision swims, and his hand outstretches for something, anything. His father slaps it away, making Craig off balance. He totters on the bar stool on the kitchen and nearly tumbles off._

 

_He’s 12 years old, just back from Token’s New Years party. His father had smelt the alcohol wafting off of him, a sour smell that lingered too long._

 

_It had been Craig’s first time to be drunk, and the party had been fun. They’d had gross, watered down beer but it had been enough for he and Token and Clyde. Mrs. Black had bought a 6-pack for them under strict instructions to behave, and stay upstairs while the adults partied downstairs. This was before Token’s parents spent the new year out of town and let debauchery reign for the last night of the year._

 

_The boys had chugged the first two beers, eager to get it down. Clyde has done a spit take upon the first taste, which caused them all to break down in a fit of giggles. “I wish Tweek could have come,” Craig sighs later, substantially buzzed and laying on Token’s king bed. Clyde is playing a ukulele he found in Token’s closet and Token is laying beside Craig giggling every two seconds._

 

“ _You love him,” Clyde sang, badly._

“ _I do not,” Craig whined and rolled back and forth._

“ _Do...do so!” Token chirped. “He’s cute, and you love him.”_

“ _I miss him,” Craig laments, wishing Tweek hadn’t had to go visit family in Boston this holiday season._

 

_Later, Token had slipped downstairs and convinced his parents to allow them a glass of champagne at midnight. The three toasted to good times and good friends and to Tweek and to whatever else that came to their stupid adolescent brains._

 

_They’d all woken up hungover, of course. Lightweights._

 

_When Craig woke up in his own bed at 5pm, unsure of when he’d made the walk home and moreover how he’d done it, he tasted sour beer on his tongue. He also reeked like a teenage boy who had been up all night and forgot to put on deodorant. He’d shuffled to the bathroom to wash it away, still happy despite the headache knocking around in his head._

 

_He was brushing his teeth when his dad called for him, “Craig. Get down here now.” He groans, spits out the toothpaste and wipes the leftover spittle on the back of his hand. He slowly makes his way to the kitchen and when he gets there he sees his mother standing anxiously over the kitchen sink, gnawing at her thumbnail. His father is standing by the bar in the kitchen, half on a bar stool, a 6-pack of beer next to him, unopened._

 

_Craig freezes. “What’s going on?”_

“ _C’mere, son,” his dad waves, voice too friendly. That should have been a giveaway but Craig was still hazy and hungover and so he moved his feet, went towards his father. Once there Thomas slapped a heavy hand on Craig’s back and cracked open one of the beers. He slid it to Craig who eyed it. “Go on, have a sip.”_

 

_Craig looks to his mom for some answer, but she refuses to look at him._

 

“ _I’m not thirsty, dad.”_

“ _Oh come on now. It’s the new year! Have a drink with me,” but Thomas doesn’t move to open his own beer._

“ _I don’t...” he moves to look back at his mom when Thomas’s large, hairy hand grabs Craig’s face, pinching his cheeks just so, making Craig’s mouth open like he’s a fish._

 

“ _I don’t recall asking,” and then the beer is upturned and going down Craig’s throat. He can’t swallow fast enough, he coughs and sputters and beer flies out, splatters on the counter, on his dad. But Thomas doesn’t let up until the bottle is completely empty. Once it is he throws the bottle to the ground where it clatters and rolls._

 

_Thomas lets go and Craig stumbles, gasps for air and coughs violently. “You think you get to go and be drunk? Without my permission? You think you’re a big fucking man, huh?” Thomas is screaming. Craig grabs the counter to stabilize._

 

“ _M-mom told Mrs. Black is was okay,” Craig says when his vision stops swimming._

“ _Thomas he’s right. I did give her permission. They were in a safe environment. You know that. It’s not like he snuck--” and Thomas’s hand flies out to smack Craig’s mother in the mouth. Her head snaps to the side and she goes silent._

 

“ _Now,” Thomas says, walking to the freezer where he pulls out a bottle of whiskey, “You think you’re old enough to drink? We’re gonna see just how much of a man you are, boy.”_

 

_Thomas had fed Craig shot after shot of whiskey. He’d pleaded forgiveness on shots one and two. He’d spat venom at shot three. Shot four went in his face when he’d flipped his dad off and called him a jackass._

 

_Craig doesn’t remember much after the 5th one._

 

_He remembers thinking this was a weird punishment, strange and cruel. He remembers stumbling from the bar stool and heaving his stomach contents into the sink, it splashing back up to coat his lips and cheek. He remembers bile, because he hadn’t eaten, and he remembers losing his grip and falling to the floor. The tile had felt cool against his wet cheek, so he’d closed his eyes. Thomas pulled him up by his hair, cheek making a sickening squelch as it became unstuck from the tile and he’d been thrown into a chair._

 

_Thomas points his finger in Craig’s face, “Think about this next fucking time you wanna piss your life away doing dumb shit.” And then he’d left Craig to fall on the floor and pass out in his own vomit._

 

-

 

Craig rolls over and stares at his ceiling fan, eye locked into one blade that he watches rotate until he’s cross eyed. That memory is one of the worse ones. It hadn’t deterred him from drinking, because of course not, but it had made him sneakier about it. If he drank at Token’s he stayed the night and made sure all traces were gone before he went home.

 

He sighs.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out and unlocks it, flipping over to his messages.

 

One from the group chat with Clyde and Token.

 

Clyde Donovan, 9:37pm: I hope all of u beautiful souls r home safe and sound (*⁰▿⁰*)

 

Craig sniffs, and lets a laugh bubble out. He types back a quick reply saying he’s safe, and asking for Tweek’s number.

 

Clyde’s reply is swift.

 

Clyde Donovan, 9:40pm: U GONNA B-B-BOOTY CALL?! :’D

 

Craig Tucker, 9:41pm: Bite me. He left his bag in my car. I need to return it.

 

Token Black, 9:43pm: Such a gentleman. I’ll send it separately. I don’t think Tweek would appreciate Clyde texting him if he knew the number.

 

Craig Tucker, 9:44pm: Thanks. I’m sure he’d appreciate it knowing that Clyde has NO sense of personal space or boundaries.

 

Clyde Donovan, 9:45pm: :c rude.

 

Craig Tucker, 9:47pm: (t O_O t)

 

Clyde Donovan, 9:48pm: TOOT?! The fuck

 

Token Black, 9:49pm: It’s a little dude flipping you off, Clyde. On that note goodnight.

 

Craig puts his phone to the side after adding Tweek’s number from Token’s separate text thread. He thanks Token who just sends a smiling emoji back. He scoffs, pretends like it doesn’t bother him, like he’s not excited to have Tweek’s number in his phone and easily accessible.

 

No, he thinks, stifling a grin under his covers, he’s not excited at all.

 

-

 

Tweek is walking outside early Saturday morning when he walks past the school. He takes a puff on his cigarette and looks over at the track. Sometimes there are scrimmages, sometimes there’s track and field practice. But it seems empty today, except for two figures near the bleachers. He walks quickly over to the chain link fence and bends over, squinting to see if he can make out the figures. One is definitely the field coach (Tweek cannot remember his name because who cares?) and the other is obviously a student running drills on the bleachers. Tweek winces remembering those being really hellish.

 

His cigarette done, he puts it out and tosses it. He runs his tongue over his chapped lips as the runner comes to the bottom of the bleachers, doubled over, hands on thighs and puffs of white air clearly visible. The coach claps him on the back and walks away while the runner continues trying to catch his breath. Tweek watches his head lift up and Tweek makes eye contact. Oops.

 

Craig sees Tweek sitting by the fence, staring at him. He’d been planning to text him after practice, but this works too. He gulps air and jogs over to the fence.

 

Tweek thinks about bolting. He’s obviously gonna get the shit kicked out of him. His feet begin the movement, but Craig’s face is impassive and he seems calm, flushed and dripping with sweat. Tweek steadies himself, convinced that if he has to he can sprint faster than Craig can run in his current condition. Craig stops in front of Tweek, panting and trying to catch his breath.

 

Fuck, Tweek thinks, I’m in trouble.

 

Craig’s black hair is sticking to his forehead, covered in sweat. His skin is flushed from exercise, spots of color high on his cheeks. He’s in compression pants that cling tightly, with shorts over them, giving Tweek a nice look at how fit Craig’s legs are. Tweek can see muscles bulging at the sleeves of Craig’s shirt when he reached up to wipe sweat from his brow.

 

“Hey,” Craig says, breathless.

“H-hey,” Tweek responds just as breathless.

“I have your stuff,” Craig blurts out, leaning forward so he can rest against the fence as well. They’re so close that Tweek can feel Craig’s breath. He hopes he doesn’t smell like cigarettes, and subconsciously makes sure he breathes through his nose exclusively.

 

“My stuff?” Tweek cocks an eyebrow.

“Your satchel. You left it yesterday. I have it in my car.” Craig explains.

 

Tweek brightens, “Oh shit! I forgot about that. Th-Thanks. I’d have been panicking come Monday.” What a space case, he chastises himself. “Can I get it?”

 

Craig has an idea. He lets a slow grin spread on his face. “Sure. I have to go shower and change but afterwards how about we get coffee? And then I’ll give it back.”

 

Tweek’s brow furrows, “Are you holding my items hostage?”

 

Craig grins and it’s beautiful and Tweek feels blush creep up his neck. “I am, in fact. C’mon. If you ever want to see your thermos again,” he adds in a villainous voice, cackling wickedly likes he in some Vincent Price film. Tweek stifles a laugh. He remembers this Craig; the dorky, funny guy who knows how to tease and make him laugh, make him feel comfortable. Of course Tweek can’t refuse. He nods and opens the gate to follow Craig to the locker room.

 

The school on the weekend is terrifyingly silent. There’s no sounds of lockers slamming, feet running and catching on the floor, no sounds of idle chatter or music. Silence. “F-fuck it feels like we’re in a horror movie,” he comments as they enter the locker room. Craig flicks the lights on and shrugs, walking to his own locker. He fiddles with the lock, deftly turning the dial to the correct code and opening it. Tweek scurries next to him, thinking about grabbing his things and going. But his bag isn’t in the locker.

 

“Gah. Where’s my shit, man?!” He panics. Oh shit his stuff is stolen and gone and he loved that thermos and his stupid essay on nature versus nurture is in there and oh my god so is his sketchbook. He’s going to shit like twelve bricks, exactly. And then he’s going to strangle Craig for leaving his shit somewhere so vulnerable and having it be stolen and then he will kill himself for being so dumb.

 

His hands are tangled in his hair, tugging roughly at the locks, shaking his head back and forth slowly. He feels a whine come out of his throat.

 

“Hey,” Craig’s voice cuts through the panic and Tweek’s eyes dart to Craig’s. Tweek’s eyes are wild and shiny, the one surrounded by the black eye more vibrant against the purple and red of the injury. “Hey, Hey, Hey. Fucking chill,” he soothes and reaches out to take Tweek’s hands from his hair. Craig slowly pulls the hands away, sees Tweek’s lips trembling, on the verge of shouting or whining and he doesn’t think about what he should do next.

 

So, of course, he kisses him.

 

The kiss is different than the one in 9th grade and the one yesterday. It’s soft and slow, reassuring. Tweek freezes and calms under Craig’s touch, not even surprised at how quickly he leans into the touch, into the kiss. Craig’s thumb strokes at Tweek’s cheek, and his fingers touch the nape of his neck, through soft tendrils of hair. Tweek angles his head and opens his mouth, letting the kiss deepen. He stumbles back as Craig moves forward, back hitting the lockers, the sound echoing in the empty room. Craig’s free hand reaches up to lock Tweek in, arm above his head so Craig can lean down further.

 

“C-Craig,” Tweek manages to moan out. It's an attempt to stop this before it goes any father, but he hopes Craig didn't hear. He doesn't really want this to stop. He arches into Craig, shaky hands moving to grab onto Craig's hip bones. He pulls, and Craig squeaks as their bodies press tightly together. Tweek's eyes shoot open when he feels Craig's cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against his thigh. Oh fuck, his brain screams.

 

This is bad, Craig thinks, as he kisses Tweek hungrily. He grinds his hips against Tweek's, and feels Tweek mewl under him and meet his thrusts back eagerly. Tweek's cold hands slide under Craig's shirt and over taut, warm skin. It feels so good that Craig growls into Tweek's mouth, biting down on the bottom lip. Tweek's hands move further down as they continue pressing into one another. Craig can't think straight; Tweek's brain is surprisingly quiet. Tweek's legs begin to buckle, and his left foot slides out from under him, just a little bit.

 

He slides a little bit before grabbing onto Craig so tightly that it takes both of them out of what they were doing. Craig's arm shoots out to keep Tweek from falling down to the tile floor, and wraps around his back. Tweek squawks in alarm, and his fingers dig bruises into Craig's tan skin. They stare at one another, breathing hard, cocks throbbing. Tweek wants to cry, because of course his dumbass ruined this moment.

 

Craig's face erupts in wild blush that creeps down his neck and disappears into his shirt. “Uh,” he stammers, feeling his erection still throbbing against his workout shorts, tenting them. Don't look down, he orders Tweek mentally, trying to figure out how to deal with the current problem.

 

Tweek's brown eyes look down to the size-able erection Craig is sporting and he grins. Craig glares daggers, still blushing, “What?” he snaps irritably. Tweek licks his lips and tries to think of something clever to say. When he goes to open his mouth Craig releases his grip and Tweek tumbles to the floor.

 

“F-fuck!” he gasps as his ass hits the hard tile. Craig looms over him, erection dwindling and a stormy expression on his face. “Why'd you drop me?”

 

In lieu of responding to that particular question Craig slams his locker open with far too much force, snatches a clean towel and then slams the locker again. “I'm going to shower. I'll be done soon.” With that he turns and storms away to the showers. Tweek watches him leave, and then hears the pipes creak when Craig turns the water on.

 

He sits there until he sees steam billowing out into the locker room, and then he realizes how wound up he feels. He groans, doubles over, and replays the scene in his head. Craig's mouth hot on his. Craig's body pressed against his. Craig's cock...

 

“Agh!” he screams and clenches his thighs together, like that will do anything. He's in too deep, he thinks. He doesn't have the upper hand he should; he's letting Craig get to him. This was not part of the plan, he reminds himself.

 

But he likes it.

 

-

 

This is becoming a pattern, Tweek thinks, sliding into Craig's passenger seat. Not the making out. Those are flukes; he means getting into cars with Craig. The car is slightly cleaner than before- the trash and empty water bottles have been taken out. There’s even an air freshener from Bath and Body Works clipped to the air vent. It smells like vanilla. Tweek inhales.  
  
Craig pulls Tweek’s bag from its hidden place in the trunk and slides into the drivers seat, passing the bag over the gear shift. Tweek takes it eagerly, clutching it to his chest. He beams over at Craig, a wide, toothy grin on his face. “Thank you,” Tweek says, the words genuine and soft. “I thought you were holding it for ransom until we went out.” He smirks knowingly, feeling triumphant.

 

Craig shrugs, “I figured assaulting you in the bathroom was worth just giving it back to you. In case you didn't want to, like, go out any longer. I'd understand.” He would, but he'd be upset if that happened.

 

“No,” Tweek says quickly, “Ngh, I mean, I'm still down to go if you are.”

Craig smiles, “I am.”

 

“Good,” Tweek nods in agreement, hugging his satchel to his chest. He looks down at the well used bag. “You didn’t peek at my shit did you?” He asks, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

 

Craig stares at him blankly. “No you dumbass. I’m not nosy like that,” he snaps and turns the car on.

 

“Well,” Tweek sputters, feeling slightly embarrassed at his suspicion and paranoia, “You are a beast.”

 

Craig lets out a laugh. “I’m a beast?” He backs out from the school parking lot. The radio is playing something soft and he moves to turn it up a little bit.

 

“Yeah,” Tweek hums, looking out the window, “You are. So where are we getting coffee?”  
“It’s a surprise,” Craig retorts not taking his eyes off the road.

They’re heading out of town. It takes everything in Tweek to remain calm and placid and not jump to the conclusion that he is being taken out to the woods to be murdered. His eye twitches. He starts to shake a little bit. He’s on the verge of shrieking when he feels Craig’s hand on his arm. This makes him jump a little, almost hitting his head on the top of the car. His eyes, wild and wide, lock onto Craig who is still focusing on the road.

“Hey,” his voice is calm, “take a breath. I’m not taking you out to kill you. There’s a coffee place I found in Denver. I want it to be a surprise. Take a deep breath. I wouldn’t hurt you.” The words feel honest. Tweek takes a couple of breaths and feels his body relax; Craig pulls his hand away. Tweek replays the last phrase in his head. I wouldn’t hurt you.

But he would, he has. Tweek bites the inside of his cheek and works on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

They continue in silence, the only sound the cars passing them or the music on the radio. At one point Tweek hears Craig begin to hum and softly sing along. Tweek watches him out of the corner of his eyes. Craig’s hair has dried from the shower, messy and all over the place, his fingers drum on the steering wheel, left foot tapping in beat, and his lips form the words. Every once in a while he shimmies his shoulder, acting out some music video shit in his own head.

Tweek can’t help it: he laughs. Craig pauses, stiffens until he’s practically stone. “Something funny, Tweek?” Craig asks.

“I forgot how silly you can be.”

“How’d you forget? I’m always like this,” and he waves his hand vaguely over his person. Tweek chuckles again.  
  
“You’re never like this. You’re always stone faced and stoic. People are scared of you, dude. Ngh,” he responds.

Craig furrows his brow in thought. “I’m not scary.”

“D-dude, you’re fucking terrifying.”

Craig mulls this over. “I don’t try to be,” he concludes.

 

“Doesn’t matter, gah, you just a-are.” Tweek shrugs.

They continue on this way, in silence with the occasional outburst from Tweek and the occasional hum from Craig. They begin to reach the city and Craig seems to perk up. “You’re going to love this place,” Craig says, grinning manically at Tweek who blushes and tries to hide his own smile. “I come out here with Token sometimes. His aunt owns the place. We study and drink coffee. It’s the best.”

The excitement catches; Tweek feels himself smiling and bouncing excitedly in his seat. “Y’know, I’m pretty high strung in regards to coffee. The chances that this could fail miserably as a date for you are quite high, Tucker.” He sticks his tongue out jokingly.

Craig smirks, half his lip upturned into that cocky grin that makes Tweek’s heart pound. “I’m not worried,” he says coolly.

They park in a small, almost empty parking lot. There’s a row of buildings in a strip, and Craig nods his head and Tweek gets out to follow him. They approach a door in the middle of the center and Craig holds it open. The smell of coffee immediately makes Tweek feel at ease; there’s soft music playing, the lighting is low in the building that’s filled with wooden tables and benches, little pieces of local art on the wall, and the sounds of silverware and cups clinking as they’re picked up or put down. Tweek takes it all in. There’s no coffee place like this in South Park. It’s like a little coffee shop from his dreams, something he’d sketch about in art class or plan out in The Sims.

Tweek feels Craig’s body behind him, a warm and comforting presence. Craig nudges Tweek as he walks by, spinning so he walks backwards, hands slung inside his hoody pockets. He winks, “I told you.” And then he’s spinning back around and heading to the counter.

Tweek follows.  
  
-  
  
It might have been the best coffee of Tweek’s life. He drank one as they sat inside and talked, and ordered another one before they left. Now, sitting in Craig’s car once more, on the way back home, he’s sipping his sweetened coffee eagerly and bobbing his head to the music.

Craig picks his drink up and takes a sip, before placing it back down in the cup holder and drumming on the steering wheel. “Fuck, I love this song,” he says excitedly and ramps the volume up. Tweek flinches as the volume increases and Tool’s “The Pot” blares through the speakers. He belts out the lyrics, seemingly unashamed, as Tweek stares on in amused confusion.

“Foot in mouth and head up ass, so whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?” Craig sang, pointing dramatically at Tweek who stifled a laugh.

Tweek joined in, singing, “You must have been so high!” Making Craig brighten and laugh and punch the air in victory. They continued singing back and forth until the song ended and Tweek clapped politely for Craig.

“Truly, a man of many talents, ngh.”

“I’m a modern day renaissance man, Tweek.”

Tweek feels that warmth in his chest that he gets when he thinks about Craig. It’s hard to describe the feeling, because it is at once amazing and scary. He tries to remember the bet, and hold onto the anger from a day or two ago, but he can’t seem to do it.

They pull into Tweek’s driveway, and Craig puts the car in park. He stares ahead, eyes darting back and forth like he wants to say something. Tweek waits a beat, hoping for something, anything.

Craig finally turns his green eyes to Tweek and they’re cold. “Thanks for coming with me. I had fun. But... We probably shouldn’t see each other anymore.” The words are cool and they make sense. They really shouldn’t see each other but as the words come out Craig feels like something inside him is coiling up to die. He holds out his hand for Tweek to shake.

Tweek eyes the offering warily, looking confused and upset. Of course it wouldn’t last, Tweek’s treacherous brain snaps, you’re nothing to Craig. Tweek bites at his bottom lip, brown eyes wavering, the left one bright behind the shiner. “I,” Tweek opens his mouth to protest, to say something. He should call Craig’s bluff; you don’t kiss someone the way they kissed and then bid them adieu. That’s not how the fairy tale works. And the Tweek winces because Craig’s no prince and he’s no princess.

He’s more like a toad.

Tweek’s chest feels heavy with burden and longing and anger and upset. He wishes Kenny were here because Kenny would have the right words to throw back at Craig. He wishes Bebe were here because her tongue is barbed and Craig would never treat Bebe this way. Tweek feels like some toy, discarded and tossed aside after being used for amusement. He’s not going to shake Craig’s hand. Instead he swallows thickly, and gets out of the car, bag slung over his shoulder. He leans down in the doorway of the car, fists clenched tightly into balls.

“See you around, Craig,” Tweek says quietly. Then he’s turning and walking up to his door, fumbling with his key ring and trying not to visibly seem shaken or upset.

Craig waits until Tweek is inside, watches him with longing and hating himself. He wishes they could have stayed in the locker room, or at the coffee shop where no one knew them, knew their dynamic. Because his body is humming and wanting Tweek so bad, missing his company as soon as he’s stepped away. Pathetic, he reminds himself, trying to turn himself to stone again.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” he tells himself, putting the car in drive and masking his emotions as best as he can. Then he drives home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I hope you guys enjoyed this. I slowly work on it at work. I also have another Creek and Bunny fic to put up soon that I've been working on for like three years now. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll update as soon as I can!


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